The Wrath of the Betrayed
by Elvenson
Summary: After Thingol's death and people and their queen attempt to cope with a world that has changed, as well as an unsure future ahead. Features Melian, Celeborn, Galadriel, Fangorn, and others
1. Default Chapter

_Disclaimer: All characters, except those without prior history, belong fully to the mind of Tolkien, and are used with full intent to give them back when I am done._

_I always questioned what Melian did after Thingol's death, in the Sil it says only that she went away, well here is what I think she felt and did, in mourning for the elf she left her former life for. There was also the unanswered question as to how others felt of such occurences. _

_Side note, features cameos by characters some of you might know._

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The light of the new sun over the tree-tops of Neldoreth seemed as blood soaked as the caverns of Menegroth where lay the murdered body of Thingol only the night before. There she sat upon the Hirilorn, alone weeping deep and cavernous tears, she cursed herself,

_You should not feel this way_

And yet her once melodious voice cracked under the weight of it all, she had lost the only one in all of the history of her existence who had "captured" her, subdued her to his love. No strength of her former ethereal existence could stop her weeping, for she felt sorrow and breaking love from the very pit of her breast, where once her beloved daughter suckled immortal milk from her bosom. Unlike the Eldar with whom she lived and ruled over and protected as a mother, she aged a little, allowing her eyes to weigh themselves with age as her husband's had, before…

_Curse you! You were born of the thought of the Divine, You cannot feel this way…He was proud, stubborn, annoyingly so, and he angered any in his_ _presence... he was…_

She could not curse him- not now- and she feared not ever, by cursing him she felt the weight of his death ease upon her, and yet only for a brief and subtle moment, for her thoughts would quickly change to how they met- how she enchanted him, and in his stupor, how he enchanted her with what sounded like infantile utterings about her beauty.

She remembered when, upon the lighting of the star-lit sky and the opening of the gates of Valinor to the first born children of Eru, how she herself passed through her loins a star upon the earth to praises and rejoicing, the Evenstar, the beautiful child of her people. No not her people, she was not of them, she was of the heavens and of the blessed realm- she was Maiar, not born of blood and flesh…and yet she felt warmth as they did, cold as they did, pain, sorrow, death, birth, love?

And she lay her gaze around the entire room that stood upon a foundation of strong ancient limbs, where her daughter remained captive, for her love of a mortal man. Melian, Queen of Doriath, sat upon the soft down filled bed, and felt every strength within her break, every emotion flood her mind so that her nose felt warm and her tears ran down her tender ancient visage, just as Sirion cut through the fastness of her power.

Her angry heaving breaths cursed not the husband, whose now mutilated form lay in the grand hall preparing for burial, but rather her own foolishness. Here she dedicated her entire being to bringing a kingdom to greatness, her entire power was spent protecting a land from all evil, and for what? To be bested by the greed of one simple elf who knew nothing of power though he had much of it! She grew tired of these Noldor and their pride, even glorious Fingolfin and his beautiful children were of these proud race of people, who would have died ere they met her husband's kin. It was they whose jewel brought her destruction, for her life was tied to the one she loved most dearly in all the entirety of the universe. Even now every breath she took was one less breath upon the land she was tied to, for the love of an elf, of a people, who came to see her as their mother.

She did not weep when she heard of Hithlum's destruction, or that of Nagarthrond, or any of the realms of the Feanorion. She rejoiced a little in their demise, knowing her kingdom, her rule was unquestioned…No, Doriath was not her kingdom, though its people would follow her to the ends of the earth, as long as she kept them safe…but what power now did she have? It was broken, her love of this world, of this youthful world, now stood second to her. The song of the trees she no longer heard, only her celestial and immortal blood rushing through her veins, pounding in her ears. Yes, she felt it, life surging in her very being,

_At last, this is what it feels like to be alive…how it is loathsome, to feel life at long last as they do, only to know it with sorrow and ending power._

"Where are they?"

" The Naugrim have fled, they are no longer within the borders of this land…they took the old road…The Prince Celeborn has raced after them with what might he had, word has been sent to Ossiriand, Beren comes himself!"

She heard voices beneath the ancient tree and in her sorrowful anger she ran to the window from where they rose. And spoke out to the two armoured Sindar beneath her very eyes. Knowing one of them well she called out in a fey and unearthly tongue, speaking words of the Sindar,

"Elorn! To where has the Prince gone?"

"Y…your Majesty, he has gone east, following the track of the Naugrim who fled the smithies."

"Why did you not go with him?"

"He bade me not to, he was rushing and filled with a fey anger…"

"Whence did he leave?"

"Last night as the moon passed the parapet of the sky."

She moved away from the window, heavily breathing in deep waves of the western air; closing her eyes and opening her mind's ears she heard the song of the hollow wind and the soft voice of the trees; and in the distance she heard a deep and ancient groan, and in the realm of thought where all life is in a gentle and ever shifting balance she heard the voice of the East. She gazed into the hearth that was lit before her, and in the shifting of the winds the fire leapt up in ever flying flames, and they danced upon the surface of the floor, and yet did not burn the gently carved house on the tree. The flames danced around her in flames of piercing light and a bowl of water shimmered in the gathering fire-blaze. Thunder from the upper airs pierced the sounds, and over thousands of miles she peered beyond the reach of elven eyes. In the bowl before her she peered and a soft mist was lifted from the water's surface and reflected from the hearth fire she saw a woodland country, ancient and gnarled with long life, whose arms reached unto the very roots of the Ethryn Luin. Peering deeply into the flame-lit bowl she again heard a hale and angered voice,

"_Boorarum…Eeeenatumbarrrruuuum…What evil awakes the Onodrim_!"

"_Betrayal Ancient one! Awaken your brothers! The Forests go to War with the stunted people!"_

_"What causes this Queen of Neldoreth! For what cause do you envoke the wrath of the ancient world?!"_

_"Thingol has died, hewn by the axes of the Naugrim"_

_'Boorauruuum Axes! Breaking cracking axes!!"_

_"I call forth the legions of the forest, avenge your ally and friend!"_

And in the hollow morning as the day light ran over the forest of Neldoreth, a great and moaning tone ran forth from the parapet of the trees, horns were blown, and a sorrowful lament was sung announcing the death of Thingol King.

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_**Elorn**: Yes!! If any of youare familiar with my other stories, Elorn is the father of Celebrin who is the main character in a series I have begun posting on this site, the first of which is the "House of Uial and the Tale of the Last Son"_

_Sorry if the "magic" of Melian is a bit off color for the Tolkienian universe, but I thought it needed a bit of dramatic flavor. Tell me what you all think, R & R please!_


	2. chapter 2

_Forgive me for having this be so long, but it is really action packed so I couldn't very well stop in the middle now could I. I hope you all enjoy it...Warning, this part isn't very dwarf friendly, but its taken from a sindar POV so I can't be too balanced now can it_

_This chapterhas been edited thanks to Shpinx and her/his very attentive reading (forgive me I do not know your gender)_

* * *

As the wind rushed by his ever moving figure tassels of his braided hair flung around in a raging tidal wave, flying as though it were naught but storm clouds in the wind rushing to drown the valley in its wake. He spoke no word, heeded none who rode behind him, the heavy breaths of his lungs still beat with a ferocity of a cornered fell beast, who upon meeting the hunter finds only rage and anger to help him survive. Fey and without hope he seemed, filled with a primeval rage that had not been seen since the Day before the Sun, when fire tore down the hill country into the very land of Neldoreth. Long ago, in the twilight of the world, he rode as he did now, having lost another father. The band behind him began to fall away, and he felt the horse beneath him falter until in utter exhaustion the steed tripped over its own feet and he was tossed from his seat to the soft and supple earth, where anger and madness gave way to final sorrow as he pawed the ground mourning the loss he had not yet mourned for. A voice called to him from where his body lay in desperation, 

"Hir Celeborn, it is time to rest the night, we cannot catch the murderers weary and longing for sleep, already we have done much today."

"We must go on, there must be none left…"

"There are few survivers, I doubt anything evil can come from them."

Celeborn lifted his head at the cold trail where the survivors had fled upon, no voices could be heard in the distance, and yet to his ears he heard the cold sound of deep laughter that once graced the Halls of Menegroth in friendship. The sound of this bellowing laughter never filled his heart with joy, only now it filled his being with anger-anger upon seeing his lord and King, father and uncle, hewn as if he were firewood upon the floor of the smithies. The murderers had a few hours head start on them, yet they were only on foot, he and his band were on horses- horses given as gifts to Thingol King, long ago. Earlier in the day they caught up to the stunted people, still drenched in the crime of greed, pawing at that cursed thing, the jewel that shone so beautifully in their hands. The ambush was laid almost perfectly- he was too eager for vengeance, he triggered it too soon, and now, now half had retreated into the fastness of the forest…

_No! They won't get away so easily._

He stood again, and called the horse to him, wearily the horse trotted to him, yet with his hands touching the head of the noble beast he looked straight into the eyes of the horse. And in that brief moment, their weariness became strength, for as they stood an encouraging wind blew around them and storm clouds gathered above, lightning flared, and drums could be heard in the distance, the drums of the Naugrim. The elf beside him looked worried, and mouthed,

"It cannot be. They could not have risen the alarm so quickly."

"Peace Mablung, these dwarves are tricksters, they make these sounds to dissuade our cause…Ride with me sons of Doriath, to vengeance for our King!"

And with that the silver haired lord once again mounted his white steed and rode forth into the tangled webs of leaves and branches, hacking at anything that hindered him; so to followed his host behind him to the very shores of Aros in the southern borders of the land. There they came to an open shore, free of Dwarf or weapon. And they stood aghast, thinking they had lost their prey, when suddenly from the very tops of the trees a battle cry went out and from the height of the tree leapt a flashing figure of girth and ruddish beard, and he landed upon an unsuspecting soldier, bringing him and his horse to the ground. Anyone would have helped if the remainder of the dwarves had not come from the shadows of the trees. So it was there at the very ford of Aros that the battle that had happened that morning continued, and the Sindar of Doriath rallied around their Prince and rode down many a dwarf with the hooves of their mighty steeds, and the Naugrim thinking their plight lost began to wade across the very fords of Aros. As Celeborn turned to see their retreat he saw the shining shimmering Silmaril dangling from one of the necks of the dwarves, its beauteous and perilous light calling to him, its amber light glinting forth and yet from that distance he could see the jewel was still covered in the blood of his King and father-brother. In rage he ran into the very ford, not heeding the call of Mablung from the opposite shore, and there in the midst of the river he met the dwarf.

"Stop where you are murderer! And taste the just sting of my blade!"

The tall dwarf turned and laughed and cruel and hearty laugh, bringing his battle axe to his shoulder,

"I obey no princling, not even one as old as yourself, pointy ear!"

And Celeborn in rage and anger ran toward the dwarf, and iron met the shining steel, as the sounds of metal crashing mingled with the crashing of the thunder above.

* * *

In Menegroth she sat, stubbornly shifting in her seat- she was not used to this, sitting idly by while others performed feats of bravery uncounted. Hearing the thunder above she looked at the dark cavernous ceiling of the caves, the tall tree-like stone columns shaking even under the wrath of the storm, Something is not right 

She thought to herself, she stood and saw how even the eldest of the she-elves noticed the oddity of the storm shaking the foundations of their kingdom. The servants would not dare to move themselves when she called to them, save one, she walked with a bearing that denoted her the head of their order, her golden-brown hair flowing to the ground in tight yet pliant braids. She stood before the tall she-elf, and bowed gracefully, given the circumstances, and as she bowed her head another shock of lightning struck the side of the land that covered Menegroth. The servant shifted in fear, yet courageously stood her ground beside the noblewoman by her side. Galadriel looked into the recesses of her eyes, knowing the servant knew only fear, yet despite being a new mother stood where a rock could easily crush her if another strike hit. She admired her willingness to stand, even when others coward,

This must be what the elders have and I do not…the love, the courage in fear that drives them to go on.

"Tathiril, where is my lady the Queen."

"Queen Melian is…she went to the Hirilorn early this morning, and then bid me depart from her…"

"Take me there."

She knew not what power sustained her at that moment, whether it was the fear for her husband's life, or that all she had known to be stable in this world had been brought to ruin, and there was nothing left for her to do than be brave. Easily they moved through the halls, no attendants could be seen and no guards hindered them, save those who stood guard over the body of Thingol King; before they detoured through the hall she caught a glimpse of the ancient elf, so peaceful he seemed as if asleep, yet the scars that were newly sown up began to bleed again and attendants would arrive to dab them spotless again. Tears welled in her eyes, her husband knew him as a father- true he was boorish, and strong-headed, but he was wise, and loving to any who came to him, without pretenses of course. Even her own family had not treated servants the way he did; she thought at first his open flirtations with his attendants were crude and savage, and yet they were innocent musings, jests and jokes that eased the tension of living in the time they did. It gave all a chance to laugh, and chance to know their king in an informal manner,

They love him dearly for that, perhaps that is why he is cared so dearly for in death, he was as their father.

The doors of Menegroth stood before them, and with a strong push they opened enough space for them to push themselves through; outside the winds blew this way and that, taking whatever was not tied to the ground from the earth and propelling it to the very sky. Her heavy robes stalled her movement, for the wind blew them in all direction to where she could not find any means of controlling them. Tathiril quickly removed them and let them fly into the wind, yelling,

"You only tolerated them anyway!"

Even at this time such a person could find joy, this was common among the Sindar- they laughed, for if not they would soon cry. And Galadriel smiled, she had always cherished the hand-maiden at her side, a constant in a world that grew increasingly imbalanced, a reminder of the subtle power of this world. In Valinor power, what mortals called "magic", was everywhere, you could see it in the eyes of the Vanyar, the works of the Noldor, and you could hear it in the songs of the Teleri. Whenever the Valar or Maiar would walk the streets of Eldamar one could see the aura surrounding them, and the effect they had was so quick to come forth that it was taken for granted, as if it would always be there- then Melkor came, and the Valar hid their wisdom and their power, for fear or caution she could never understand. In Beleriand she found a power that was not as omniscient, yet was as potent as anything she had ever experienced. Here the effects of their arts were slow to be seen, yet invisible to the eye they worked every day, making things endure and grow ever more beautiful as the years passed.

The Hirilorn stood in the midst of Neldoreth and its tall smooth branches curved from its large and smooth trunk and pointed toward the heavens that now were torrential in a dark and dooming storm that engulfed all the land within the Girdle. The wind was heavy with a hale and fey voice speaking words in a language that long remained unused in the land of Beleriand. Only Galadriel herself new their meaning and was loathe to translate them for the she-elf beside her. Yet the look upon the servant's face spoke of knowledge of these dark and dooming words. Their melody hard and sounds unknown by many an elf could be heard in the wind; all that Galadriel herself could translate she kept in her heart and spoke them not until these accounts were placed onto record. They followed thus,

The woods burn beneath this wrath 

_The ground is naked by this hate_

_Shaken the Earth, Broken the stone_

_The woods are awakened_

_The Skies grow blood red_

_Thunder be my sword_

_Lightning be my arrow_

_River be my tears that sweep the Earth of evil_

_Oh waters of Aros_

_Listen to my words_

_Bring death upon the wings of a betrayed heart_

_Flow you waters of Thingol's realm_

_Against the Stunted Folk_

It was upon hearing the end of these words that the skies became dark as the pitch of tar and a great crack of thunder rushed through the skies toward the Hirilorn. Both maidens felt their hair rise, and braced one another for a strike that would turn them to ash. Yet the strike of light and fire turned before striking them and fell before their feet turning the ground into glowing embers of rock and illuminated earth. Heaving large breaths in fear and wonder they continued their journey toward the mighty tree, and upon reaching the opening that could only be reached by a ladder they saw two guards cowering under the branches and covering themselves with their broad leaf-shaped shields. One whose hair was of nightshade and ridden with starlight stood upon seeing the two ladies and brought them to safety beneath the thick branches of the Hirilorn; scolding he reproached his wife saying,

"Why do you come hither in such a storm?! Is it not enough that our child could loose one parent thus, only to loose another in the same manner?"

The gilded brown haired servant in a sense of jest in a most inopportune moment gave her husband a kiss upon his lips saying,

"Celebrin should have no fear of loosing you, who has lived by the sea, where such torrents are common, I however seem to be in the grace of she who commands this strom."

"It cannot be the lady!"

"I fear it is Uial, her resolve has broken, I and Tathiril must climb the tree, we must stop her before she brings to ruin all that we have built…where is the ladder?!"

"My Lady Galadriel, I fear the winds took it away from this place, I myself could barely keep ahold of it, these winds are unlike any I have ever seen!"

"WE MUST SCALE THE TRUNK!"

As these last words were shouted a crack of thunder broke a branch above them, and fell steaming with heat and glowing as one of the lamps of Gondolin. In a quick maneuver the gilded-brown hair of Tathiril was tied behind her head as she climbed upon the sea-faring shoulders of her husband and took hold of the branch nearest to the ground, and she swung around the light and simple limb, balancing herself upon its ever moving form, making herself lighter than the air that moved it. With a hand outstretched she took the hand of Galadriel and pulled her up to the level she now stood upon. And with what speed their fortunes could lend them they climbed higher and higher until they reached the very point where the ladder should have reached. And upon entering the doorway they saw a figure surrounded in mist and smoke, as if the very skies had enveloped her in their coming. Her silver-gray hair turned lightning white in the flashes of thunder and words of terrible foreboding could be heard, shouting across the vastness of Neldoreth. Before her shimmered a bowl of water that glowed in the light of the figure, and within an image was played, a battle, between silver steel sword and iron axe.

* * *

Celeborn dodged the first swing of the dwarvish axe as water flew in his wake, his sword gleamed and his silver hair flew in wild patterns in the gathering wind. The Silmaril gleamed greedily as the eyes of the bearded one before him, the blood upon it shimmering in the light of the lightning. He thrust and dodged, allowing anger to rip through his very body, as sword clashed with axe and the sounds of arrows flew by him toward the opposing shore followed by cries and the falling of silver and gold into the rivers. On the battle went, one would swing as the other bent low or turned to avoid the fatal blow. The golden chain hung heavily upon the neck of the dwarf, and delayed his blows; yet the strength with which he gave them was no less than what he would normally match. Scratches were given and flesh opened to reveal red streaming blood, yet an arrow flew through the air and into the very hand of the elven prince it drove, forcing his steel sword to fall heavily into the rushing waters of the ford. A dwarvish arrow it was, its red feathers gleaming above the gray of his tunic, and a cry went forth from his mouth as the swing of dwarvish axe flew into his stomach and swept him from his feet causing him to fall into the rushing of the water. He saw only darkness and a piercing pain rippled through his body, No it cannot end like this! 

Silence seemed to follow as the dwarf now stood above the body of the elven prince, and his laugh that once filled the halls of Thingol with joy, now rang with victory and a harsh tone of greed as he kissed the jewel that hung about his neck. He raised his axe high above his head and spoke cruel words,

"I shall spit happily upon your grave, impetulant princling!"

Gasping for air Celeborn took in the sweet water of the Aros, and heard a voice in the storming winds,

Flow you waters of Thingol's Realm 

_Against the stunted folk!!!_

And taking a broad knife from its sheath at the curve of his back he thrust toward the neck of the dwarf as the swing of the axe came down to claim his life. The handle of the axe crashed into his shoulder and the blade of the knife flew between the thick iron armor of the dwarf and cut through skin. The axe fell into the river and the figure of the dwarf held his neck from where now blood poured out and soiled the river with its red hue. Mouthing words in gasping breathes of air he gazed at where his axe struck the abdomen of the silver haired elf, where now was revealed a shining mail of mithril, wrought by his own hands,

"I …curse the day… I ever made that for you…"

Taking in heavy breaths of air Celeborn watched the figure fall into the ford and the Nauglimir fell from its now broken chain into the waters of the river. Celeborn took it in his hands and felt the weight of all its blood shed in his arms, yet before thoughts could form in his mind a call came from across the shore.

"My lord!!! Fly, death is upon you!!"

And before him several dwarves ran with axes poised to strike him to death, mail or no, and he turned and took the hand of Mablung, who rode out upon his steed to meet him and jumped onto the back of the horse that now ran at full speed to the shore where archers stood ready to let fly their gray feathered arrows. Yet the band of dwarves stopped in their chase and began to run to their shore, yet they never reached their safety, for the river Aros came rushing down and swept them from the face of the earth as thunder crackled and flashed in pale bright images and the image of a lady wielding a sword could be seen amid the white torrents of rushing water. Yet the rushing of the river did not stop but began to take trees and rise above the shoreline as survivors and wounded of the Naugrim were soon swept away by the river. Yet the water began to reach the feet of the elven side and Mablung rode to higher ground in hopes that the vengeful water would not take them as well.

* * *

Galadriel hesitated not in her task and signaling for Tathiril to strike both lay hold of the queen's arms and could feel the power rushing through her immortal veins, like the rushing of the sea it crashed and moved. Into them surges of lightning went, filling them with her power and her presence; Galadriel tried to speak yet her words were silenced in the cracking of thunder. Again she cried out into the ears of the violent vengeful queen, whose gray thunder ridden eyes kept gazing at the bowl of water that rushed and whirled in the wind. Tathiril took the shimmering pale bowl and despite its normal weight, was forced to use her full strength, tipped it over to where it crashed and the lightning pale water spilled onto the floor of the Hirilorn. In anger the great queen sent out cry and threw the golden haired Noldo from her arm and grabbed hold of the Sindar maiden's neck with all her strength. Choking the dutiful maid servant she cried out in a voice filled with hatred and woe, 

"Why did you touch the water!!!? You are NEVER to touch the water!"

"Stop Melian!! You do not mean to do this!"

The queen threw the gasping servant and turned with burning eyes toward the tall figure crowned in golden tresses and was about to strike her crying,

"Do not order me KIN-SLAYER, I AM THE QUEEN OF DORIATH!"

"YOU WOULD NOW BE THEIR DESTROYER HAD WE NOT STOPPED YOU!"

And Galadriel with all her strength blocked the blow of the queen and forced her toward the window where her fiery gaze was met with the storm torn lands of Neldoreth. Trees were uprooted from their ancient foundations and the land suffered a great and terrible wound, as a charred scar of earth tore across the land, where fires now blazed in the Girdle of Melian. It was then that the wrath of the Queen was broken and she knelt in tears before the window crying out in fear and sorrow; and as she wept a gentle rain fell from the war torn skies, as tears follow the anger of betrayal- far in the distance Mablung and Celeborn saw the river Aros calm and the skies become clear again, and embracing one another, wept at long last for their lord who lay in the great chamber awaiting burial fit for one as he.

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_Rosie & Sphinx: Thank you for your preliminary comments, hope you enjoyed this next enstallment_

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_Edit: Thank you Shpinx for pointing out the mishap in the writing, forgive me, that would not have been a small problem considering the two people envolved, You saved me much embarassment thank you once again_


	3. chapter 3

_Here it is at long last, the update fro the wrath of the betrayed. This story may soon be coming to a close, I cannot decide where to end it, but I will decide that later. _

* * *

There it lay, in his hand hanging so heavily even though it felt like he was carrying naught but a small child's chain of silver jewelry; such a perilous thing lay in his hands, yet the sunlight that shimmered on its surface inflamed his eyes, it called to him,I am yours by right, he that wields me holds the power of the Blessed Realm… 

The voice sounded so beautiful, like the sound of Daeron's music flowing in the trees of only a few years ago, before all this had happened, before the coming of these lighted Eldar from across the sea, who were too proud to allow him to marry their kin, who became too high to realize the kin they left behind now ruled this land…And then he heard a laugh so cruel, a laugh he heard before, only then it was coming from a red-haired insolent who spent so small a time upon the ground of Beleriand; the laugh took him from his dream and gave him time to cover the cursed jewel from the light of the sun, in haste he gave it to Mablung saying,

"Take it…"

The gates of Menegroth stood before them, still opened wide by the tempests wrought from the hands of the queen; many walked to and fro cleaning the halls from debris erecting lamps that had fallen and hanging tapestries that had blow away from their places of honor. And they dismounted their steeds and entered their tattered home, before them lay a place of confusion and sorrow, for in the midst of the grand hall of the king stood two things in complete and utter solitude; a table of richly carved stone and marble, bearing the runes of Daeron around it and on top of the table lay a figure cold with death covered in a rich, deep colored linen cloth, bearing the embroidered emblem of the fallen king. Beside him sat a lonely stooped figure, whose once vibrant brown hair now seemed dull as the hair of an aged mother turned crone, her eyes were heavy with grief and long life, their sea-gray light bubbling beneath the surface of tears.

Yet queenly she remained, and in distant thought, looking ever on at the figure before her upon the marble table, her hands holding a cold lifeless palm, stroking it, hoping to feel any semblance of warmth. To her love of long years she whispered words that were said at their troth; she spoke of happier times beneath the trees, and the raising of their only child. She spoke of the greatness of their kingdom, the power and majesty of their presence, even now in death; her words were heard only by the mournful figure lying upon the rich table, cold from sorrowful death. Around them stood in silent mourning all of Menegroth, the noble lords and ladies were silent, and the servants wept for love of the fallen master, gentle and harsh, strong and empathic. With Mablung at his side the Silver-haired prince of Doriath came before the weeping queen, and spoke in a whisper upon the edge of tears,

"Rianneth nin? Man naeth darthar ammen, I esteliannem minlu Nogothrim? Ceno! I dagnir dhelu sed min… agarwaen na Dhornhoth minlu estelui."

My Queen-mother? What woes remain to us, who once trusted the Dwarves? Behold! The hateful bane of our peace…bloodstained by the once trustful Thrawn Folk

And in anger and mixed sorrow he threw the jewel upon the floor of the hall, and himself fell to his knees and buried his face into the lap of the seated queen; her charcoal-silver gown soft as the down of a swan and smelling of the mournful smell of funeral wood. In her lap he once wept as he did, long ago, when he was orphaned and only a child, his family passed beyond the confines of the world. With a mother's gentle touch she stroked his hair, giving him comfort when her own strength had left her, lifting his gaze unto her own she spoke in a silent whisper,

" Hinath lin harthan cened aen, Celebornen, harthan annad meleth nin aen."

I had hoped to see your children, my Celeborn, I had hoped to give my love to them

And with that she stood tall among the others and with a lasting long embrace of her eyes she glided away from the grand hall out into the gray sky covered land and into the dimness of the wood. All stood silent for a brief moment, the prince of Doriath taking in her words, confused and bewildered at how dooming they sounded; his wife on the other hand watched from behind the crowd surrounding the scene, hearing the words of this matriarch she followed her into the darkness of the wood, where trees once ancient and hale and inviting to all, now seemed angry and inhospitable; their gnarled branches blocking her from her desired target.

"My Lady?"

She called out from the blockade of gnarled, woven limbs, and then before her appeared a light it seemed as if from the shadow world came forth a spirit of the stars; she could not tell the face of such a being yet the image felt familiar. It called to her in a tongue she knew from her youngest years,

"Where now Artantis, do you go? What see you now before you?"

The light seemed to dim as if the figure merely stood before a bright and blinding light, the face cooled and the eyes became their silver-gray. The song of the nightingales was heard in the distance and the wood that was once hostile and dark now regained its presence of the world beneath the twilight; standing before her was the image that first greeted her in this land, the first image in Endor to take her breath from her lungs- the image of Melian the Maia, Queen of Doriath and protectress of the land of Neldoreth. Tall she seemed, yet her aged eyes spoke of tears unending, their hollowness revealed to her the reality of who indeed this being was, a forceful spirit within a shell of life and beauty. And the image before took hold of the barrier of branches and as if they were nothing more than the ends of tapestries moved them aside and upon taking her hand led her into this cathedral of trees, cut-off from all life.

The gnarled trees gave way to tall straight pines, cedars, and oaks, and there within this refuge for the powerful and weary there stood a fountain that was made of simple black marble and engraved upon the fountain was written in the Cirth of Daeron

"Guren Neldoreth"

Which in the tongue of the Sindar was the Heart of Neldoreth. The hale and wise queen sat defeated it seemed, by time and the present, she spoke in a vanished voice,

"What now remains of Doriath, once proud and grand of all the Kingdoms of Endor? What now remains of my love's kingdom when no ruler sits upon its noble throne? Tell me Artanis, called in love Galadriel…who stands to lead this kingdom?"

"My lady, surely you will sit upon the throne of Doriath? No other can command the will of the Sindar greater than you, their love of you will rebuild this shattered kingdom, and return it to its beauty."

The Queen of Doriath smiled a hopeless smile, mixed with sorrow and knowledge of the unknown that lay before her feet. She looked at her hands, now radiant with life, teeming with blood and warmth; looking around her she heard the gentle song of the woods, the melody of the life surrounding her, the music of the Ainur that she took part in…

I never thought it would be so beautiful…and so harrowing.

Tears rolled down her noble cheeks, and beads of salty-tears became rivers upon her living alabaster visage. Looking at the daughter before her she furrowed her brow and whispered in a tear-soaked voice,

"I have no strength to rebuild this kingdom… you beheld me before in my ancient form, it is the last time I will ever appear so, my weighted heart cannot be what it once was. I loved Galadriel, I loved him with all my being and in doing such a foolish thing I chained myself to him, his fate is my fate, his loss of breath, my loss of power…You showed me Galadriel, I was not who I once was…"

"It is the sorrow Melian, it drives us all to madness at times…"

The Queen stood from her fountain-throne, the light of the full moon filtered through the woven trees and the lights of Elbereth danced upon her golden-brown crown of hair, that shimmered like wheat of the fields at the rising of the harvest moon. She seemed beyond the Noldorin she-elf now, in a world beyond where she now stood, for her eyes peered into the future, seeing many things: the flowing of the river into the sea, the darkening of the skies and the tearing of the fabric of the earth, its black-blood purged to extinction, her gentle beauty of the forests shorn from their foundations. Hopeless she stood upon the brink of time, alone in a world full of life, harrowing her voice was raised from her breast, already her spirit flew away from Endor and a piece of it remained there with Galadriel for a brief and final moment.

"This age is now yours Galadriel, for the old world is falling away and soon the land you stand upon with wither and die…The stars will fade from the sky and the veil between the earth and the void will be shorn away… towers and kingdoms will fall and the earth will fail and pass beneath the hands of men. The silken blood of the earth will be drawn from its body and the mists of the ancient world will pass away. The forests will crumble beneath the devices of the Dark lord and all will come to ruin, for the valor of old will die away and the fire of the ancient heart will forget the power of the earth they live upon and the glory of time when valor meant something beyond riches and wealth and fame."

"Not all of this will come to pass…it cannot all be without hope."

The voice, fey and far away laughed and spoke with sage-like wisdom and as she spoke a smile came to her face and faded into contemplation and emotionless sincerity, love flowed from her eyes as the tears ran down,

"No my dear pupil, it will not all pass away in one moment, and there will be a time of glorious banners and bright shining hope to flow before the world comes crashing down. The moon will shine brighter than the sun and the stars will burgeon the sky with their beauty before the end of all, and silver will at long last be counted more precious than gold…And you, my dear child, the time will come for you to enter the annals of history… before you comes the storm that will sink the earth in sorrow. Find strength Galadriel! Find strength in him, for you will need to pass a test more harrowing than any skills you now possess…if you loose him, you will fail…and ruin will come sooner to your time, and the curse of your brethren will flow unto you, though you took not the oath that was sown in kindred blood…remember always Galadriel, the smallest of hopes, can light the sky beyond the void and the smallest of beings can change the course of the future."

With a kiss of farewell and blessing upon the other's forehead the queen stepped back and for a brief and final moment she was Melian, the Queen of Doriath, powerful and wise matriarch of the Sindarin clans, mother of the Eluwaith and bearer of light that faded beyond the world of the Eldar. Then as quickly as the light of an ancient star fades away after its last and final brillance is lost to time and song her form faded from the world. Yet before she faded from Endor, a call came forth from the shadows and standing before the two stood Celeborn, the prince of Doriath and falling to the shades feet he begged her return, yet she only raised her hand in blessing and was gone from the world. And wife comforted husband, as his tears did flow, nourishing the earth, and the fountain of Neldoreth ceased to flow, for it stood upon the meeting-place of Elf and Maia, in love and passion that gave to world such beauty that it would never know again for many eons to come. And the couple held one another in love, the final words of Melian echoing through Galadriel's mind. And the forest of Neldoreth was filled with dread and sorrow for the Girdle passed away and the mists that hid the land, beautiful with gray-starlight, was torn away by the wind from the sea.


End file.
